


In Lieu of Payment

by vivilove



Series: Historical AUs [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Happy Ending, Harry is The Worst™️ in this, Historical Westeros, It’s a bit of a soap opera really, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark Are Not Related, Jon Snow is King in the North, Maybe like 1700s, Sansa Stark is the Lady of Winterfell, and look where we are, but with some of the feudal stuff still in place, just set in historical times, this was supposed to be a drabble :'), unhappily married Harry/Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23760763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: They’ve all lost so much. Harry’s rash spending and poor choices will not cost her this. She cannot lose Winterfell. She cannot. She will do what she must, not for the man she calls husband but for her home and family.Resigned, she finds her courage. “If the king could be persuaded to give us some more time or forgive some of the debt and if he might harbor any inclination towards me, I will indulge his…”Her face burns with shame and she cannot finish the sentence but it’s all the agreement Harry needs. He nods and looks relieved. He looks intolerably relieved for a man who’s just asked his wife to play the whore.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Historical AUs [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747234
Comments: 72
Kudos: 388





	In Lieu of Payment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Only_Jonsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_Jonsa/gifts).



> For Tanya, for getting me pumped to write the next Match spin off and who will hopefully enjoy this semi-historical one-shot :) 
> 
> And special thanks to Amy for reading this in its still-not-a-drabble-1300-word form. It grew a bit on me :')

It’s a nightmare. It must be. Their royal company will arrive later today and her husband suggests this now?! It’s despicable, unpardonable. It would certainly be heartbreaking if her heart was truly his to break. Nonetheless, it wounds her greatly.

“I can’t believe you’d asked this of me, Harry!”

“It’s not like I want this. Things have become rather desperate, I’m afraid.”

“There was no mention of taxes in his letter when he asked to pay us a visit.”

“Why else would he come here?”

“He’s making a journey to all the great houses, they say, to cultivate relations with the lords and gentry as he tries to settle into his kingship.” Harry raises an eyebrow and smirks as if she’s a simpleton. “Then, we’ll pay whatever we can now and hope that he’ll forgive the shortage and allow us time to make it up.”

“We can only pay a tenth of what is owed.”

“A tenth?!”

“Hopefully, I can muster that much.”

“Hopefully?!”

Dread fills her. The kings of old gave the land to the nobles and gentry, allowing them to work them and profit off them as they saw fit provided they care for the smallfolk who live upon their land and pay their taxes to the Crown in a timely manner.

“Sansa, I fear you are our only hope.”

“Our only hope?! Our only hope is for me to…”

“He’s not a bad sort from what I’ve heard. He’s said to be generous to his…”

“Generous to his what, Harry?” The quaking wrath of her voice, which must surely be in evidence upon her countenance, silences her wretched husband’s tongue. “Is the king rumored to be generous to his mistresses? The wives of the gentry that he tumbles in lieu of payment for debts due to the Crown?”

“It’s not like I want this,” he repeats, dumbly.

“How could things have grown so desperate so quickly?! All was well enough when we arrived here. With prudent spending and reasonable investing, the rents and profit from the harvest and wool should have more than covered our taxes and…”

“I may have made a few purchases that, upon reflection, were unnecessary,” Harry says evasively. Her eyes narrow. “Some of my investment choices were unwise.”

“And I’m to pay the price for that?! Why have you concealed this from me?!”

“I had tried increasing the rents to avoid this but…”

“The rents?! On our tenants?! Good God, Harry.” Aren’t the lives of the smallfolk filled with enough toil as it is without them having to pay for Harry’s mismanagement of matters?

“Nevertheless,” her husband says, his voice rising as his temper does, “the taxes are due, the incomes are not what I’d hoped, there is very little gold on hand and we could find ourselves tossed out on our arses for winter. Our home…”

“My home!” Winterfell should be hers by rights. It’s completely unfair that it’s passed to this worthless cad the day they exchanged their vows.

She stifles a sniffle, refusing to cry in front of him. She’d known he was no true knight when they’d married but, times being so hard during and immediately after the wars, she’d accepted his proposal and hoped he’d be kind at least, that he’d treat her better than this certainly.

He paces forward, attempting to capture her hand in his with that smile of his she’d once thought charming. She resolutely pulls away. If he would ask this of her, she will never willingly let him touch her again.

“I wouldn’t wish for you to lose Winterfell,” he sighs. Suddenly, it’s her loss he’s concerned with. The lying, cheating, manipulative arse. “They say the king is susceptible to a woman’s charms. He particularly seems to favor redheads, they say. He is only staying for two nights but I’m sure he would be enchanted by a beauty such as you. I would keep out of the way and not hold it against you later.”

Unbelievable. He asks her to humble herself, to swallow her pride and allow a stranger into her bed and then has the audacity to speak as if it is he who must tolerate the sacrifice.

Sansa closes her eyes to his rambling, thinking instead of her family’s home and knowing that her parents and Robb would not wish to see it handed off to strangers. She nurses hopes that her younger siblings who were cast adrift during the wars like herself may be out there somewhere. There should be a home for them to return to if ever they can. They’ve all lost so much. Harry’s rash spending and poor choices will not cost her this. She cannot lose Winterfell. She cannot. She will do what she must, not for the man she calls husband but for her home and family.

Resigned, she finds her courage. “If the king could be persuaded to give us some more time or forgive some of the debt and if he might harbor any inclination towards me, I will indulge his…”

Her face burns with shame and she cannot finish the sentence but it’s all the agreement Harry needs. He nods and looks relieved. He looks intolerably relieved for a man who’s just asked his wife to play the whore.

“You’re so brave, my dear. I am not worthy of your…”

She recoils from his grasp and his insincere comfort. She will do what she must for Winterfell but she will not tolerate this false knight’s touch or presence in her bedchambers any longer.

“You’re right. You are not worthy at all. Collect your things from these chambers before you come downstairs to break your fast. You’ve spent your last night in here,” she says icily before sweeping from the room.

* * *

Sansa watches his approach from her place by the door as Harry ushers him up the front steps to make the introduction. Dark hair that curls and a rich black cloak trimmed with fur. He wears a beard though she believes he’s no more than five years older than herself. Even in his traveling clothes, she can tell the king is strong though lean. He is graceful in his movements and she wonders if he’s as deadly with that sword upon his hip as she’s heard.

He fought bravely for the North during the wars. She knows he wasn’t a lord by birth. He’s not even a knight. He had risen from humble origins far in the North, worked his way through the ranks at a young age to become Lord Commander of the army. He had not sought the crown but, when the fighting was done, the lords had chosen him. She cannot help but feel some pride over that. Only in the North have they agreed to choose their sovereign instead of letting it rest on birth and privilege alone. She hopes the lords have chosen wisely.

He looks rather stern at first glance and there's a faint scar along one eyebrow but there is warmth in those dark grey eyes when they meet hers. And, scar aside, there is no denying that King Jon is handsome. It will make this less odious perhaps. What is she saying? It’s completely odious. She’s going to allow a stranger to know her in a manner that only her husband should and all because she married a fool. _Who is the fool here?_

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace,” she says, demurely.

_And so am I if it should please you._

She can scarcely breathe in this corset with such thoughts in her head but manages to curtsy prettily, dipping forward a touch more than is strictly proper to allow him a look at her décolletage and natural allurements.

The king’s eyes flicker downward but for only a fraction of a second. He clears his throat and smiles back at her. “You are very kind, Lady Hardyng,” he says with a bow, his deep, rumbling voice flavored with its Northern accent stirring something inside of her. He glances up at the stone edifice that looms over them all. “Your home is lovely, the loveliest I’ve seen.”

“I fear you cannot have seen too many then,” she replies, lightly. “There are far grander and prettier estates in the South.”

“Aye, perhaps that is so, my lady, but I am of the North. It’s in my bones just like it’s in the mortar and stones of this castle, one of the oldest in all the kingdoms, I believe.”

“It is. Have you seen much of the other kingdoms, Your Grace?”

“Enough, my lady. Enough to know that neither the green woods of the Riverlands, the lush gardens of the Reach nor the golden sands of Dorne could ever hold my heart like these lands even on the coldest night.”

“You have the soul of a poet, Your Grace.”

“Not remotely,” he laughs. “But I am glad to visit your home.”

“We are honored to have you in our hall..." She hesitates before continuing, "...and you would be most welcome by my hearth if you are in need of warming during the long, cold night ahead.”

The king’s eyes flash momentarily before he quickly schools his features. She’s short of breath again. Where did that come from? It is not like her to play the flirt. _What choice do I have?_

She sobers with her next words. “Winterfell is quite drafty in places. Some have called it dreary, I’m afraid,” she adds with a glance towards Harry who had declared himself quite disappointed upon their arrival six moons ago, “...though it is very dear to me.”

“Oh no, my lady. The castle is impressive and I'm quite keen to see more of your lands after our approach.” He nods over his shoulder towards the horses. She was surprised to see the king arrive on horseback instead of in a carriage.

"I should be happy to give you a tour or allow you to roam at your leisure."

“I would enjoy that immensely. The ancient woods and peacefulness that surrounds them suits my tastes, I find.”

Her heart swells with pleasure to hear someone showing appreciation for her beloved home. “I am fond of them as well.” _They are part of me._

“You were raised here if I’m not mistaken, my lady?” His tone is gentle and his posture respectful as they edge towards sadder subjects.

“I was, Your Grace. I took my first steps within these walls and knew many sunlit afternoons in those woods you speak of.”

“And perhaps some snowball fights when the summer snows came?”

His smile is playful and she laughs though inside, she aches at the memories of what once was. And, he appears so kind but, if he is the sort of man who would bed another man’s wife as payment for some debt, how can she ever respect him? Her father never would've. 

“The carefree days of childhood,” she says with barely a tremble. “I was sent South before all the... _unpleasantness_ began.” Everyone knows of the Starks and their tragedies.

King Jon ducks his chin and nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving her face. “Your family has been missed here in the North. The Starks of Winterfell have been here time out of mind and I hope that…some day you will...” She can tell he wishes to convey more with his words though fears crossing into impertinence.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Her nose tingles and her eyes are threatening to water. She cannot have that. A man like King Jon will not be tempted by a sobbing girl. “After my time in the capital, I was later sent to the Vale where I met Ser Harrold. We have only returned North six moons ago after we were wed.”

“I hope you are not sorry for it.”

 _Oh but I am,_ she thinks with a pang.

He promptly scowls and appears ruffled. Has he read her mind? “I hope you‘re not sorry for returning North, I mean! Not for marrying. At least, I hope you’re not sorry for marrying,” he chuckles nervously. It’s really rather endearing.

“Not at all, Your Grace. I’m very happy to return home.” Her heart races but she presses on, figuring she must allow an opening if they are ever to come to the question. “As your dutiful subject, permit me to say it will be my… _pleasure_ to see to any and all your desires whilst you are here.”

“That is…” The king’s eyes flash again with intent as he hastily licks his lips. “You are too kind, my lady.”

_Not kind, just desperate._

All the same, Sansa must admit indulging King Jon’s desires no longer seems like the greatest of hardships if he should wish for her to. In fact, a wild and unaccountable wickedness courses through her at the mere thoughts of serving her king in such a manner leaving a heady though fleeting throbbing need in its wake.

 _What have you made me?_ she thinks with a bitter look towards Harry. _You are no true knight and now I am no longer a lady at heart, it seems._

“Speaking of Winterfell, Your Grace,” Harry says, interrupting an exchange of glances between Sansa and her king. “I was hoping we might have a word or two later regarding the, um…taxes due.”

The young King in the North stares at her husband, a hint of a scowl forming. He’s been traveling all day and has not even crossed the threshold of their home. Now is not the moment to be begging for favors. Leave it to Harry to be completely tactless. Will he offer his wife’s body to his sovereign in exchange for a little leeway before they even sit down to dinner?

“Not now, husband,” she says briskly. “Let us bring our guest indoors and offer him bread and salt and a place to rest and refresh if he wishes for he is surely weary from his journey.”

“Bread and salt?” King Jon repeats, wryly. “I have indeed come to a true old house of the North then, my lady.”

“One of the oldest as you said, Your Grace. This way.”

The king bows his assent and follows. But as he sets foot inside the castle he nods to Harry. “We may certainly speak of taxes and such after dinner, ser.”

Sansa wonders what the king might consider her favors and the sacrifice of her dignity worth since Harry is likely to sell her cheaply. She tells herself that if it will mean remaining here, it will be worth it. 

* * *

  
Jon simply cannot believe the audacity of the man, the lowly, crass, pernicious scrub of a man. He’s insulted, outraged and disgusted. Had he suggested this to his wife in the same graceless manner? Jon’s belly churn queasily at the very thought of that.

He clenches his still-aching fist. It’s a good ache though. It was well worth this present ache to strike Ser Harrold Hardyng.

 _Calls himself a knight?_ _Offering his wife in lieu of payment for delinquent taxes like a brothel keeper might offer his doxies to cover a gambling debt? Despicable._

He should have him stripped of his knighthood. Perhaps he will. But Hardyng is no Northerner so perhaps he can’t. He’s not sure. It’s all rather new to him.

Was Lady Hardyng complicit in this plan or might she have suggested it in the first place?

No, he cannot believe it. Jon cannot say he knows a great deal about women but every inch of her screamed lady from the moment he clapped eyes on her, a lady in the truest sense of the word, not just her high birth and fine clothes but her manners and kindness and the way she made him feel so welcome in a matter of moments though his visit is sure to be an imposition after all the hardships suffered during the wars.

Lady Hargyng…gods, she’s wasted on such a man!

Jon had been very curious to learn what he could of Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter when his advisors had said she was returning North to her family’s ancestral home. He’s more than merely curious now.

Reaching the well-appointed guest chambers he's been granted for his stay, he discovers the lady has left a note with his serving man saying she has retired to her chambers for the evening but, if he wishes to call upon her, he would be welcome.

_‘If you should need warming on a cold night, my hearth is yours.’_

He would be welcome to her hearth and her body, he realizes.

_‘I would be glad of any opportunity to see to my king’s needs.’_

Oh, he’d like for her to see to his needs but he would never force a woman to pay her husband’s debts on her back.

He hadn't even had the taxes in mind when he came here and he has no wish to press anyone too hard though they’ll need the funds to rebuild the kingdom in time. Everyone has suffered with the wars and he’s well aware of it. And for Hardyng to make his assumptions, offend her pride and make her offer herself up like a tasty morsel on a tray?

Damn the swine.

Certainly, she’s a beauty and, over the course of dinner, she’d enchanted Jon with her smiles and conversation just like she had during their first meeting. He’d been quite envious of Ser Harrold’s good fortune by the time dinner was done though he never would’ve dreamt of insulting his host or hostess by allowing that to be known.

He knows people like to gossip about him. They say the most ridiculous things but he’s no libertine. Yes, he’d had a red-haired lover when he’d been half a boy before the wars and long before he’d ever imagined he might be named king someday but the truth is, he’s quite celibate these days.

 _More’s the pity,_ he thinks when he recalls Lady Hardyng’s sparkling blue eyes and ivory shoulders.

He supposes he should call upon her, let her know she may lace her corset back up and not wait for her king to come take her like she’s his for the taking. Oh…that thought had caused a stir in his breeches. _Behave yourself, Jon._

He knocks softly. He’s nearly convinced himself she’s already fallen asleep and is turning to go when she answers.

“Your Grace,” she says quietly, dipping into a curtsy that’s far stiffer than the one she’d given him earlier as her eyes look left and right lest any servants are about.

She thinks she must demean herself for him and doesn’t wish for her own household to gossip of it, no doubt. It cuts him to the quick. One punch was not enough. He wishes he could return to the study and thoroughly thrash Hardyng this time. _Or run him through perhaps._

Her blue eyes are wide as a doe’s. She’s clearly nervous and he can hardly blame her. She’s also in naught but a dressing gown and whatever lies beneath it. _Perhaps nothing at all._ He gulps, chastising himself for the thought.

Drawing a deep breath, she opens her door wider. “Won’t you come in, Your Grace?”

He rakes his hand through his hair, unsure how to begin and not wishing to leave her mortified by the nature of this conversation. “You are too kind, my lady, but I have not come here to impose upon you tonight.”

“You’re no imposition, Your Grace,” she says, the loveliest blush spreading from her cheeks downward.

“No, nor will I be. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding with regards to my character or what I would ask of any subject of mine.”

“A misunderstanding of your…” All the color drains from her face.

“I’m not here for the purpose you may believe, my lady,” he says meaningfully, allowing his eyes to roam downward long enough to take in the dark blue silk of her dressing gown and the fiery locks cascading loosely around her shoulders. Gods, she's radiant. And for half a second, he wishes he could disregard his character and ask for many sinful things from this woman, the loveliest subject in his kingdom without a doubt.

“You’re not?”

For just a moment, there’s something in her eyes that his ego would like to claim is disappointment but it just as quickly changes and he can’t tell if she’s more relieved or more afraid.

“No, I’m sorry to say I’ve had words with your husband just now. They were not words fit for a lady’s ears and perhaps it would be best if I were to leave early tomorrow.”

The words that follow pour rapidly from her mouth. “Leave? So soon? Please, Your Grace, I apologize if my husband made a fool of himself. He drank too much at dinner. He’s always a fool when he drinks and I’m sure he would never wish to…” Her eyes well up with tears as the rapid flow ends. “Please, don’t send me from my home, Your Grace” she begs as a broken sob escapes, followed by another.

Moved by her distress, he enters her chambers at last, helping her to the settee before the fire. He fumbles for a handkerchief and passes it to her. She hides her lovely face from him as she attempts to stem her tears.

Feeling awkward and uncertain, he notices the decanter on her bureau. “Would you like a brandy, my lady? I could use one.”

She shakes her head and continues wiping her eyes. The liquor burns his throat and steels him against any libidinous thoughts that might let him forget himself. When he returns to her side, she has stopped crying.

“I’m sorry,” she gulps. “I didn’t want…you must think me…”

“I understand from what Ser Harrold said that you’re in danger of defaulting on your taxes for this year.”

“Yes.” Her chin trembles but she squares her shoulders. “If you would only allow us another year, Your Grace, I’ll take over the management of the estate and put things to rights. I’ll find a man of business who knows what he’s about and…”

“My lady, I can certainly give you a year. I can give Winterfell more than that if needed. It will take time for all of us to recover from…all that was lost.”

She starts to cry again and these tears nearly unman him. He knows of the death of her parents and brother, of the uncertain whereabouts of her remaining siblings. She’s suffered so much and her husband would’ve had her…his hand becomes a fist but he must cool his anger. There is no place for that if he’s to offer her any comfort.

“Thank you. I’m so ashamed of the note I wrote and…”

“No, don’t be ashamed, my lady. I’m sorry to have caused you such distress with my visit and very, very sorry for your husband’s true nature to have been revealed to you in such a manner. I pray your gentle heart will recover from the terrible blow in time.”

“The blow to my heart?" she says ruefully. "I knew he was no true knight when I married him but he said he'd bring me home and I had harbored hopes that he might treat me kindly at least.”

And he has done this instead. He is no true knight at all. “Then, it was no love match?” he inquires, his heart pounding with the fervent wish that it was not. 

She shakes her head and he can breathe again. His own advisors have been after him to marry and he hardly expects it to be a love match. He will do what he must for his kingdom just as this lady was willing to do for her home. Perhaps...

“You've been married less than a year?”

“Just six moons.”

They are barely more than newlyweds. “And he’d offer you to me over taxes?” Jon growls before he can help himself.

“He’s already taken a lover but I don't care. He troubles me less often that way," she says with a prim sniff, struggling to maintain her composure. She may not care to be troubled by the cad, and Jon is relieved to imagine Ser Harrold warming the bed of another, but even if she does not love him, it would be a blow to any bride's feelings. "In time, I’d hoped he might give me children to love but so far…please, forgive me for airing such disgraceful matters to you, Your Grace,” she implores.

“There is nothing to forgive, least not between us.” He dares enough to reach out and gently stroke her petal-soft cheek. “Clearly, you are not happily wed, my lady.”

She shakes her head sadly. “No, Your Grace. And after what he asked of me, I never want him to touch me again.”

A woman cannot leave her husband. Ser Harrold could leave her but not the other way around. She’s trapped in this loveless marriage and he shudders to think what their marriage may dissolve into in time if he would treat her so abominably so soon.

_Those old laws are ridiculously outdated…and I am king now._

He takes her hand in his. “My lady…Sansa,” he says tenderly, testing her sweet name upon his lips, “I am no knight but I will make you a vow here and now. He won’t ever touch you again.”

* * *

  
Lady Hardyng found herself an emancipated woman not long after that night having been given the option to annul her marriage on the grounds of her husband’s infidelity and other reasons only whispered in the local magistrate’s ear by the king himself, no less. 

Before long, the lady was being asked to council meetings of the lords to give a woman’s point of view on various matters. The king did not seem to care when the lords complained that a woman’s point of view had never been needed before and instead he asked Lady Sansa if she knew of any other ladies in his kingdom that might have opinions to give. A rather large queue formed outside the doors at the very next council meeting.

And, coincidentally enough, just as the young king's advisors were giving him more and more encouragement to wed and settle down, Winterfell saw a happy increase in the number of royal visits it received. He hadn't wished to press her, allowing her her newfound freedom if she preferred it, but he was certainly desirous of her company and was pleased to learn she was equally longing for his.

The servants whispered of long rides through the ancient woods of Winterfell where the king might return with a crown of woven wildflowers upon his head and a brilliant smile upon his face. Or they might sigh over quiet walks through the castle gardens when their lady might return with a small bouquet of winter roses in her hands and her cheeks painted a lovely pink.

But their courtship was a very proper one. King Jon would not have it any other way after what his intended had gone through. There was always a maid in attendance. 

And quite happily for his dear lady, there was soon a sister and younger brothers to take on the role of chaperone. Alright, upon occasion, the king might've managed to steal a kiss or two when his lady's little brothers had their back's turned. 

Regardless of how many kisses they may or may not have managed to squeeze in between the king's declaration of his intentions and their nuptials, Sansa's joy in her reunion with her siblings when they'd managed to find they way home again after all the upheavals brought about by wartime and her upcoming union with the man she loved could not be matched by anything.

As for Harry Hardyng, the one-time knight, he seeks his supper and his fortune where he may find it amongst his relatives back in the Vale, lucky to have escaped the king’s wrath and the North with his head still upon his shoulders. He likes to lament about the beautiful wife he once had who was stolen from him by that lecherous King in the North. No one much listens to him and he’s in danger of losing his place for the winter. More than likely, he’ll find himself bunking down in a barn to keep from freezing to death.

Meanwhile, the royal pair have made Winterfell their courtly seat for the coming winter. It seems a proper place for it, far more convenient in some ways than Castle Black ever was and more comfortable, too. The queen, her sister and her brothers belong together in their home after all and the king is happy to have siblings as well as a wife now. 

There are those who say the redhaired queen bewitched their king the night he dined with her and her penniless husband. They say she was an enchantress and greedy for more power than a humble knight could hope to wield. In a haze of lust, the spellbound monarch overthrew the knight, making him give up his bride and her castle if he didn’t want to find himself dead. People do love to gossip. 

There are even those who say the cold-hearted bastard king stole a man’s lawful wife and took her for his own in lieu of payment for delinquent taxes of all the bizarre notions.

Either way, none who have laid eyes on King Jon and Queen Sansa together can doubt for a moment the felicity of their marriage, the happy partnership of a true knight and his lady. And when their first little princess is born, bells ring from dawn ‘til dusk throughout the North to share their jubilation.


End file.
